


Lenguas

by amber_sword_lilies



Category: Final Fantasy, Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Bilingual Reader, F/M, La Pasión, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 03:33:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16611104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amber_sword_lilies/pseuds/amber_sword_lilies
Summary: The reader's first language is Spanish, but Cor and Gladio didn't know that! Now that they do, they're left feeling much... closer... to their partner.





	1. Cor

If there was one thing, one flaw, one bone to pick with your partner, it was his tendency to rise at an unholy hour.

Most mornings he had the decency and stealth to let you sleep. However, in the wake of last night’s more passionate throes, he didn’t want that intimacy to end yet. Fully sated, but still craving. He wanted you close, even if it meant getting on your nerves a little.

He returned from his usual morning peruse around the apartment, a habit that forced him to get out of bed and stay out, and sat on the edge of the mattress, gently tucking a strand of hair away from your face. He loved you like this. Soft, rested, still warm and safe. He wanted nothing more than to see you safe. Except, perhaps, the pleasure of your company before he had to leave for the day.

You croaked a hoarse whimper when he bundled you in his arms, lifting you clear of the bed and mumbling ‘good morning’ into your temple. Still bleary, you were caught somewhere between nodding and shaking your head. His frown lifted for a moment, making way for a gentle smile.

The faint sputter of the shower starting up wasn’t enough to rouse you fully. You stayed in his arms, softly nuzzling his chest and taking in his scent. Even when he hadn’t worn anything since the previous evening, a fact you’d made sure of, he still smelled faintly of bitter Crownsguard leather and steel. His aroma softened at home, picking up cinnamon and lime notes and eventually the smell of sex. Breathing him in brought back the swirling memories of the previous night. Mussed sheets had been cast aside in the need, the fever for more skin, more touch, more him. Cor had taken you to heaven and back. Repeatedly. The residual ache between your legs morphed into a dull throb.

You were settled there, safe in the comforts of a hard, muscled chest under warm skin. Each hum you gave, mostly in hindsight at some of last night’s finer moments, was returned by a deeper rendition of his own. You were drifting back to sleep when he stepped into the shower.

You shrieked the moment the water hit your skin.

“¡Está _helado!_ ¿Qué demonios te pasa?” You burst from his arms, desperate to avoid the shocking, glacial water being pelted at you. “¡No puedes arrojar a alguien a una ducha fría!”

“Hey, woah,” he chuckled, keeping half of his grip on you to hold your back against his chest.

You hissed breaths through your teeth, completely tensed. Your previously bed-warm skin was stinging from the brief contact with ice cold water. The shock ebbed away with the heat of his chest, each breath taking a little more of the tension from you. You were lucky he’d caught you, otherwise it would’ve been a swift plummet to the floor, possibly spiced up by hitting your head against the edge of the bath.

Mentally praising his fast reflexes, you relaxed a little more in his grip. As you stilled the shaking, you stood up straight, still flush against him. It was then that you felt the warm press of his cock against your back.

“I didn’t know you spoke Spanish.”

You turned your head to look at him. The frown had deepened, but over curious crystal eyes. Shrugging lightly, you gave your response.

“Yeah, mother tongue.”

“You never normally use it,” he narrowed his eyes a little. The hint of a smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.

“You know what? Cold water _will_ do that to a person!”

He shook his head. “I didn’t mean it like that. You should use it more often.”

He turned you in his arms and backed under the stream of water. Warm droplets peppered your skin, but his open kisses were hotter against your neck.

“Why? Do you like it?”

Your answer was currently becoming hard at an alarming rate, prodding your lower belly with insistence. He growled against your neck when your fingers danced along his shaft. Steam made the air thick, shrouding the pair of you in an intimate mist. He lifted you up and pinned you against the tiles, smirking at your gasp.

Your fingers wound in his hair, breath hissing as he teased the head of his cock against your folds. Every craving groan that barely left his throat was a plea. Back arching as he languidly pushed into your wet heat, he swallowed your first low moan in a fiery kiss.

He chose a pace and stuck to it; deliberate, deep thrusts from grinding hips. The pairing of newly stoked passions and the remaining warmth serving to remind you of just how passionate he could be, was already making your mind fray. Within minutes, moans were swimming through the clouded walls of the bathroom.

Controlled as ever, he watched your face pull into the contortions of pleasure. Occasionally his frown would deepen, or his breath would hiss between his teeth. You locked eyes with him, watching the clear blue deepen with all the warmth of a summer sky. He was still too sharp, too precise. You wanted him to lose it, and you had an idea.

Tugging him down for a deep kiss, you whispered against his lips with all the heat you could paint with words and tone. “Mi corazón…”

His breath stuttered. _Now, that’s more like it._ After another heady moan, he silenced you with bruising lips. One hand fisting in his short, thick hair, you coursed the other down to rest over his heart. It was pounding, desperate and powerful. You could feel it race as you chose your next words to mutter hotly against his cheek. The contours of his face guided them straight to his ear. They had a sparking fire in them that made his hips press more insistently, cock throbbing within your walls.

“Mi corazón de León…”

The snap of his hips made you cry out, viciously digging your nails into his shoulders. He came with a roar befitting only him, one he usually strangled. The final thrust stretched you to your limits, hitting you with the perfect amount of force. You clung to him and came, reflexively squeezing him for every last drop he had to give. The two of you twitched through the aftershocks, kisses interrupted by gulping pants.

The two of you only left the shower when the water ran cold again. Thankfully, this gave you ample time for repetition...


	2. Gladiolus

“You want these chopped?”

“Please,” you nodded, keeping a keen eye on the two pans you had on the stove.

Over the course of the last half hour, you’d filled the kitchen with the scents of paprika and garlic, occaisionally graced by the mouth-watering cloud that left the oven whenever you took a peek at the chickatrice joint roasting there.

Ever your faithful assistant, and keen for your company, Gladio had finished earlier than usual. He’d wasted no time getting involved, so here he was. Standing at your side and obediently preparing the tomatoes with a practiced hand. He was no Ignis, but he was here and, more importantly, he was yours.

Feeling watched, amber eyes left his task, flicking up first, then sideways to catch you in your observations. He turned his head and mumbled an apprehensive “What?”

“Nothing.”

You stood on your toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. The warm smile he gave held you in his gaze. Rich sunlight poured through the window as thick as honey and cast him in the glow. Soft brown eyes burned with warmer fire, each spark and dancing flame illuminated. The dark tangle of his mane gilded with copper, bronze, _gold._ His tan deepened in the setting sun, soft shadows thrown over his features hinted to the impending night. Night was always your time with Gladio. Dusk to dawn were your hours. It was a life split in two, and in some strange twist he was Persephone, retreating to you.

He’d kept your attention too long. He set the knife down on the chopping board and reached for your hands. Fingers interlaced, he took a step away from the counter and gave you a twirl, briefly dancing with you, barefoot on the kitchen tiles. You finished with your arms crossed over your middle, wrapped in his embrace. The warmth of his skin was home. He nudged behind your ear, smelling your hair before those full lips of his pressed kisses to your jaw, down your neck, humming in contentment.

One of his hands left yours and moved to cup your cheek, a calloused thumb stroking gently over the smooth skin. He turned your head, watching you with amber eyes aflame. You always loved keeping your own open a little longer to watch him, to see thick, dark lashes close in the pause before bliss. Closing your own, they tickled his cheek, making him breath a laugh. His lips met yours, and the world fell away. How he did it, every time, remained a mystery you weren’t inclined to solve. _This_ was certain, and sure, enough for the both of you.

In a pause between lazy, stroking lips, you caught on the sound of something bubbling at more than the medium simmer it needed. Still bound by his kiss, you reached blindly for the stove to turn the heat down.

“ _¡Mierda!_ ¡Hijo de _puta_ que está caliente!”

You immediately pulled your hand away, inspecting the light burn on the side of your thumb. Hissing your breath at the relief cold water offered as it ran over your skin, you still hadn’t noticed his silence.

“Huh.”

Still wincing, you turned to look at him. He ran his thumb over his bottom lip. When he drew it away, you fixed on the split that oozed with the dark stain of blood after a moment. You winced again, this time at your own guilt.

“Sorry, I didn’t-.”

“Esta bien,” he shook his head, leaning down to lean his forehead against yours. He passed his thumb under the running water to rinse the blood away. “Te perdono.”

_Huh?_

You gaped at him. He snorted at your shocked expression and turned to reduce the heat on the stove. When he looked back at you, and you were still completely awestruck, a wide grin spread on his face, splitting his lip all over again.

“Y-you… _what?!”_

“You talk in your sleep. I wanted to surprise you,” he nodded, somewhat bashfully. “So… Surprise, I guess.”

You shook your head and reached out to cup his cheek. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to.”

There was no denying it now. Gladiolus Amicitia was a romantic, and possibly the biggest sap you’d ever met. He pressed a quick kiss to your palm before closing the gap between you and resting his hands on your hips. His smile reached his eyes, still illuminated by the dying day. Night was coming. This was your time.

“Teach me?” Curiosity burned bright in his eyes. There was an honesty to his expression, a fond, earnest crease in his brow. It made you forget how to breathe and lit a match in your core. You considered your options.

“Indulge me first.”

He wasted no time in diving to catch you in another dizzying kiss. There was a faint taste of blood, but nothing unpalatable; nothing compared to the sweetness of his mouth. He stopped the water before running his hands down your sides, gently squeezing upwards at your ass. On cue, you jumped. He caught you as you wrapped your legs around his waist, feeling the sway of him as he carried you from the kitchen.

Even when he reached the bed, he didn’t set you down. He knelt on the mattress, still bound to you, and hardening rapidly. Clothing was shed rapidly, torn away to reveal skin and strengthen the craving for it. His lips rarely left yours. In mere moments, your legs were spread wide by his broad hips, hands buried in the dark tangle of his hair. His hands were restless at your sides, taking every inch of bare skin he could.

The initial press of the head of his cock made you break the kiss, head falling back with a small moan. A wolfish grin took command of his features. He was sharpened, but his eyes were still soft and dark. He held the evening sky in them, painted by the death of the day.

He pushed on, rutting gently against you. Teased by half thrusts, your hips bucked under him, desperate for more. Back arched, you locked eyes with him.

“Te quiero, por favour.”

There was a dry, sherry-heat to your words, to that tongue, that made him drunk. He captured you in another kiss. As he thrust in slowly, all the way, until hips met, his lips fell open against yours in a hungry groan. Angled to meet him, your hips rolled smoothly against each other. The two of you were tangled in limbs, kisses, sheets, hair…

Dancing towards euphoria, the initial burning stretch he gave you subsided for the feeling of utter fullness and completion. Your skin burned at the coursing, calloused hands that roamed your form. He couldn’t decide. There was so much he wanted to touch, to memorise, to know as well as his own mind in the hopes of keeping you there. A loud moan and the squeezing of your walls around him threw him headfirst, back into the current situation.

That match he’d lit had sparked a wildfire that coursed through your veins. It consumed you. You grasped one of his wandering hands and slipped it down to where you were joined.

“Aquí,” you breathed your plea. “Gladio, te necesito- _nnngghh_ aquí!”

He nodded, rough fingertips working you in a smoother frenzy. Molten eyes looked down at you, watching pleasure knit your brows and grit your teeth as debauchery lines his lungs. You burned in the fires of passion. Between whines and moans, matching kiss-swollen lips met.

All languages left you in the final steps of this dance. All you knew now where moans higher than his, sharp gasps and Gladio, always saying his name as a prayer. With a final cry of his name, you tensed under him, screaming into his mouth. Pleasure exploded through your every fibre. You clung to him, legs holding him close, nails scraping his back or scalp.

In a flurry of rough motions, he buried a hand in your hair, tilting your head back to claim your mouth as his. His other arm wrapped around your waist, tugging you onto him with each thrust. They came more desperate than the last, until he finally stilled, spilling into you with a thunderous groan. He gave a few more broken movements, stopping when he got lost in your kiss again.

Smiling between kisses, you opened your eyes to watch him. Polished by a faint sheen of sweat, brows furrowed as he clung to the memory of ecstasy, lips reddened and parted, he was a masterpiece. He swallowed thickly, before resting his forehead against yours. You stayed there for a moment, content in the afterglow as the sky turned a deeper blue. When he finally croaked up, you didn’t know whether to laugh or curse.

“Wait, did we leave the stove _on?_ ”


End file.
